


no one in the world

by dancinghopper



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M, also accidental fake relationship because apparently ive never met a trope i didnt like, basically what riverdale is too chicken to do, bed sharing because im a basic bitch, post 3x07 but pre 3x09
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-10-02 17:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17268437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinghopper/pseuds/dancinghopper
Summary: "I missed you," continues Archie, in a whisper. "I was really. I was really fucking glad to see you in that bunker, Jug."or: s3 divergence. archie and jug don’t split up at gladys’, take a roadtrip, and fall (back) in love





	1. i miss you now, what's come over me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two bros...sharing the one bed.....less than a foot apart but theyre not gay.........?

Jughead forces them into getting a motel room post the fiasco at the farm, because the whole incident has had his trust issues skyrocketing. No more accepting kind offers from strangers, he decides. Not until they’re far as hell away from Riverdale. Archie must be feeling pretty bad about it, too, because he doesn’t even argue that much when Jughead suggests it. It’s cash they don’t really have,  but Toledo’s only a couple of hours away by bus and he’s hoping (really, really _hoping_ , which isn’t something he’s done in a while), that everything’ll work out once they're there.

The room they land is, for lack of a better word, cruddy. It’s one of those backpacker type hotels, where you stay one night and prop a chair against the door because the lock doesn’t work. The rain drips through the ceiling and down the walls, and the wooden panels are swelled and cracked with water damage. It smells like mothballs, and it’s _cold_. But still, Jughead slept in some pretty shitty places when he was homeless, and this has a roof and _Archie_ , so all things considered he supposed it compares pretty well.

Jughead lies on his back on the bed, hands clasped atop his chest, staring at a Wisconsin-shaped splodge on the ceiling. The room is bathed in blue moonlight, and he’s thinking about how much longer he can go without a good meal, because his stomach feels empty and eight granola bars a day just isn’t going to cut it. Maybe his mom’ll fix it, but he’s trying not to set too much store by that.

“Hey, Jug?”

Archie’s voice is soft in the darkness, a vulnerable quality to it that's a little more like how it used to be before this shit-show got started. Jughead turns his head slightly to the left, just enough that he can see Archie in the corner of his eye.

“Yeah?”

“Do you — is this weird?”

For a second Jughead thinks he means the way they’re crammed up together on the double bed (sleeping bags on top of the sheets, because Jughead wasn’t getting under those dust-mite infested things for _anyone_ ), but they’ve been doing this since they were kids, so he dismisses that thought almost instantly.

“You mean, us being on the run from your ex-girlfriends dad?” he asks. “Probably.”

“No, I —“

Archie hesitates. His sleeping bag rustles for a second, the shadowy shape of his figure turning on his side towards Jughead.

“I know that that’s — fucked. That _is_ weird. But it’s like —“

Archie sighs. He’s never been particularly good with words when it matters. He likes things to be clean cut, simple, doesn’t like to wax poetic like Jughead. And the thing is that Jughead knows the words are there, to encompass whatever depth of emotion is plaguing him, Archie just needs to find them. But until he does — well. It’s messy.

“It’s like,” says Archie. “It’s like last year, when there was all that — that shit going down, with you and me, and the Black Hood, and gangs and stuff —

He stops. Jughead rolls over to look at him properly. He’s all shadows and moonlight, giving off the barest impressions of the contours of his face. Jughead gets the sense that he’s frowning.

“I didn’t really get it at the time, because there was all this other — stuff — going on, but I. I feel good, now.”

Something ( _old, ancient, buried_ ) in Jughead’s chest stirs. He raises his eyebrows even though Archie can’t see, but it doesn’t matter because Archie probably knows he does it anyway.

“I know, I know,” says Archie, exasperated, maybe at Jughead and almost definitely at himself, “We’re on the run and sleeping in the middle of nowhere and I just got pardoned from a murder charge. But it’s just — it feels good, to be here. With you.”

Jughead swallows. The feeling underneath his sternum is too close to something he doesn’t want it to be, something that’s been angry for a long time, neglected and vengeful for it, something that was better suited to the _before_.

( _before veronica, before betty, before the summer. just before before before)_

“I missed you,” continues Archie, in a whisper. “I was really  _—_  I was really fucking glad to see you in that bunker, Jug.”

_(it’s archie, and his hands are shaking as he reaches for him, as archie’s head collapses onto his shoulder, nestled in the crook of his neck, like when Mrs A left for chicago and archie showed up to jug’s old house choking on his breath from running the whole way there. it’s **archie** , and jughead wants to make some quip about angels falling from heavens, but his mouth’s gone dry and he doesn’t think he could make the words if he tried, so he doesn’t)_

Jughead runs his tongue over his teeth. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

He puts his hand outside his sleeping bag, just a little, like he’s adjusting his sleeping position. It settles onto sheets that he knows are a grimy beige, but if he pretends hard enough can imagine are Archie’s _Star Wars_ ones.

“Guess we finally did run away together,” says Jughead, only half in jest, and Archie huffs.

“Yeah, we did.” Another pause. “You miss Betty?”

The leaps and bounds that lead to the question hang thick in the air. Jughead sighs.

The thing with Betty is — complicated. They are, sort of, but then they also aren’t. Together they’re the people they could be, maybe the people they should be — the people they won’t be. But they’ve both known that. They know their relationship is a prison as much as it is an escape. Jughead doesn’t think there’s ever been any doubt. They’re something that wasn’t meant to happen but did, something that now they don’t really know how to get out of. He doesn’t really like to think about it.

“No,” says Jughead, truthfully. “Betty and I are weird.”

Archie bursts into laughter like he can’t help it, the sound bright and bubbling and entirely inappropriate for the situation.

“What?” asks Jughead as Archie’s shoulders jostle, the mattress shaking underneath them. “ _What?”_

Archie keeps laughing. “Nothing. Well, no, okay. It’s just — I know you’re weird, Jug.”

Archie’s voice gets that particular lilt it does when he’s lining up a punchline, something so young and teasing and cheery that Jughead has never managed to be mad at him for it, even when he’s the butt of the joke. Archie giggles some more.

“I know you’re a weirdo,” he says. “I mean, come on, Juggie, I’ve never even seen you without that stupid hat on. That’s weird!”

“Oh fuck _off_ ,” says Jughead, and rolls away from him, pushes his face into his pillow to hide his grin. “She told you I said that?”

Archie keeps laughing, whole body shaking, and eventually Jughead has no choice but to join in. Archie’s arm comes out to whack him in the stomach and then settles, pressing into his side, just under his last rib.

The laughter fizzles out into the darkness, and Archie’s hand shifts a little so it rests beside his. He wraps his fingers around Archie’s wrist clumsily, like they used to in the treehouse, and pretends it can soothe the rope burn marks, raw and red on pale skin.

“I missed you, Arch,” he whispers, for no other reason than to say it again. And he thinks — he thinks he should say it once, that he missed him in prison and he missed him before that, in the Black Hood drama and the summer that prefaced it. He wants to climb into Archie’s arms and go back to _the before_ , back when the ache in his chest hadn’t scabbed over, and back when he knew how to be in love with Archie Andrews as simple as it was breathing.

“My fault,” says Archie, and tangles their fingers together.

Maybe it is, a little bit. Maybe the fault lies with freshman year and the parties and the football and not making that much time to hang out with Jughead. But they could have come back from that, and they nearly did, before Ms Grundy and Clifford Blossom and the weird chain of events that led Hal Cooper to go on a murder spree. Really it’s Hiram Lodge and the splitting of the town into two sides that’s to blame, and it’s Archie getting swept up in the wrong hands as he tried _(desperately, vehemently)_ to do what was right. Not for the first time Jughead wonders if maybe they’re just trying to deal with shitty hands in a card game they don’t know how to play.

(And, let’s be honest, _who fucking knows_ , at this point — maybe that’s more accurate than he’d like to think.)

He shakes his head. “We’re just villains of circumstance, Arch,” he says, a line from a band they both agree to like, “That’s all we are.”

Archie hums. “Maybe.”

They stay silent for a few moments. Jughead desperately wants to both seperate and superglue their hands, he just can’t quite make up his mind as to which. The mini fridge hums with electricity in the quiet, and a yellow shadow darts across the far wall with the passing of a car.

“Toledo,” says Archie softly, and his voice cracks slightly near the end of the word. “You gonna be okay to see your mom?”

Huffing, Jughead says: “That’s a can of worms I don’t wanna deal with.” He runs his tongue over his teeth. “I’ll manage.”

“Okay.”

Jughead feels a sudden urge of anger at the fact that two years ago Archie would have bothered and pestered him until he let up, wouldn’t have taken his deflection at face value. Jughead swallows it down, and lets go of Archie’s hand.

“Night, Arch,” he says.

“Night, Juggie.”

Jughead hates that stupid nickname. He hates that Archie has made it his own, like every other _man, dude, bro_ he’s been called. Archie might have that brand on his hip, but sometimes it feels like Jughead’s carrying one too.

He rolls over, thinks of tomorrow. Hopes his mom won't kick them to the curb the second she sees them.

He guesses he'll find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading u guys!!!!
> 
> the song jughead references is by a band called queens of the stone age and to be quite honest is the inspiration for this whole fic. im sure josh homme would be real pleased if he knew
> 
> hope u enjoyed!!


	2. no intentions of letting go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archie winks at him, smiles like he knows exactly what Jughead was doing, and Jughead thinks: _This is nice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have absolutely no idea what america is like or if upstate is even the correct term for what i was envisioning but whatever im gay and stupid like archie
> 
> also i changed the time line a bit so riverdale hasn’t been put under quarantine yet

Seeing his mom again is... something. It’s kind of messy, because on the one hand he’s so glad, because it’s his  _mom_ , and  _Jellybean_ , but also, you know, she ditched him. She ditched him and left him with an FP who was drowning in beer cans, and then she told him he couldn’t come see her.

Jug shifts anxiously on his feet. The room she’s given him and Archie is fine — a couple of cots, some boxes and crates stacked against the wall. It’s just — it’s very obvious that she’s made a home here. He feels like he’s insinuating himself into somewhere he’s not supposed to be, but then, he  _should_  be supposed to be there because it’s his  _mom_  —

“Jug, you okay?” Archie claps his bicep lightly, jolting him out of where he’s staring at the blanket clasped in his hands. It’s one of Jellybean’s, pink trim around the edges, a basic pattern of stars and circles adorning it. It looks like it was bought from a supermarket, but it’s soft, and she’d pressed it into his hands almost shyly, like she didn’t know if he’d take it. Like she wasn’t sure he was still her big brother.

And that’s — that’s not fair. And that’s on his mom.

He softens his grip on the blanket slowly, knuckles fading from white to pink, and clears his throat. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Archie squeezes his arm. Jughead can feel the indent of each individual finger. “We can go, if you want.”

Jughead shakes his head. They need somewhere to stay, and despite everything it  _is_  good to see his mom again. The sense of familiarity, the warmth, it’s welcome. It was nice that she hugged Archie, nice that she stuck up for him in front of Penny.

It’s funny, thinks Jughead as they sit down for dinner with a couple of her crew, but he’s kind of glad that she’s still running a slightly dodgy operation, even if it really is as simple as nicking a couple of stereos from time to time. His parents were complicated, he knew that, and it wasn’t like either of them were wholly in the right throughout their marriage, but it’s kind of reassuring to see that she's a bit fucked up too.

Archie kicks his shin under the table, and Jughead jerks himself out of his own head, clumsily stuffing a carrot into his mouth in an attempt to pretend he wasn’t just so zoned out he'd forgotten to eat. Opposite, Archie winks at him, smiles like he knows exactly what Jughead was doing, and Jughead thinks:  _This is nice._

***

“You gotta cut him loose,” says his mom, and Jughead feels that familiar curl of anger rise in his stomach. The tried-and-true Jones method for when things get hard, he thinks bitterly — cut ‘em and run.

“I’m not just gonna _abandon_ Archie, Mom,” snaps Jughead. “He’s my best friend.”

 _(he never thought four words would be able to mean so much. didn't realise it could be late nights in the tree house and guaranteed science partners in middle school, and said in a booth at pop’s on the fourth of july, twenty minutes before The_   _Text. didn't know it would be said when he's got chains around his wrists, when he's packing a bag and about to hop a train._ archie andrews is my best friend _.)_

“Your Mom’s right, Jug.”

Archie steps into the room, walks over to him. “You should go home,” he says. His tone is imploring, like Jughead would  _want_  to go home. Like Jughead didn’t commit to this the second he got the call.

Jughead steps back, surprised even though he thinks he shouldn’t be. “What are you talking about?”

Archie is lit up in shades of orange under the crappy light, shadows angular and harsh on his face, but he still looks like the boy Jughead's known his entire life, which is something.

“Jug,” he says, “Hiram almost killed us back at that farm, and Penny tracked us here. I put your mom in danger, I put  _Jellybean_  in danger.”

Archie’s mouth twists downward and Jughead sighs, rubs his hand across his jaw, because he can't argue with the truth. He side-eyes his mom. “Could you give us a minute?”

His mom nods and retreats, but she’s got that glint in her eye from earlier, that says he's not getting away that easy. He’s kind of pissed that she can still read him so well after taking off for a year, but he guesses he’s been feeling some kind of way about Archie Andrews for a lot longer than that.

“Archie,” says Jughead, softly, once she’s left. “I don’t need to go home.”

“I’m not gonna keep putting you in danger. I can’t.”

“I don’t  _care_ ,” snaps Jughead. “I‘m not letting you go out there alone.”

He runs his hand through his hair, stressed, because he can just see Archie spilling his life story to anyone who asks. He’ll get himself killed. But he needs — he needs Archie to understand, to get it through his head that Jughead's _here_. For the long haul. 

“Fuck," he says. "Archie, listen. Where’s — where's home, for you?”

Archie blinks at him like it’s the simplest thing in the world, which,  _it is_ , but Jughead’s still embarrassed about it. “Riverdale. With you and my Dad.”

 _Fucking Archie Andrews,_  thinks Jughead, and bites on his tongue to stop himself blurting out something he’d rather not. 

"Exactly," he says, "Except, my dad kind of sucks."

Archie looks at him for a second. And then he  _blushes_.

“Oh,” he says faintly. “Right.”

“Yeah,” says Jughead, and determinedly does not look at him. He can tell Archie wants to say something like  _what about Betty_ , but he really wishes he wouldn’t. “So, let’s just — let’s just keep heading North, alright?”

“Okay,” says Archie, and then: “Um, thanks, Jughead.”

“Shut up. I’m going back to bed, we can head off tomorrow morning.”

He slips past Archie, but not before the other boy can grab onto his arm.

“Jug,” he says. Jughead turns to him half-questioning, and finds himself pulled into a hug.  _Oh._  He swallows as Archie’s arms wind around his middle, and his chin settles on Jughead’s shoulder, then wraps his arms around him too. It's familiar and comforting and Jughead just sort of  _aches_.

He waits a few seconds and then goes to pull away, but Archie holds steadfast. Jughead frowns. “Arch? You okay?”

Archie doesn’t say anything, so Jughead pats his back lightly and wishes he were better at this sort of thing. Archie sighs and pulls away, steps out of Jughead’s space. He misses it.

“Yeah,” says Archie, and realigns his shoulders. He seems to be staring very intently somewhere above Jughead’s left shoulder. “Fine, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” says Jughead cautiously. He claps Archie lightly on the shoulder. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

They go back to the makeshift room. Jughead settles down to sleep on the borrowed cot, burrowed under Jellybean’s blanket, and tries not to think about how much he wanted to kiss him.

***

The bus they end up catching is an old, coach-style one, with vinyl seats rather than ugly-patterned ones. Gladys kisses his cheek before he gets on it, and he promises to call once they make it upstate. It’s pretty empty, so Jughead dumps his rucksack on a seat up the back and commandeers the one in front of it, sidling in next to the window. Archie sits next to him.

“So,” he says, an odd quality to his voice that’s probably misplaced guilt for Jug sticking by him, “Where’re we going?”

“Uh,” says Jughead, and checks the ticket. He shows it to Archie. “Supposedly there’s a youth centre up there, might be able to look after us for a couple of days.”

Archie nods. “Cool.” He digs around in his backpack for his earphones, and plugs them into his old, beat up MP3 player. There’s a dent in the back from where Jughead accidentally dropped it out of the tree house and it landed on a rock. He watches as Archie strokes his thumb over it, almost absentmindedly, and Jughead gulps and looks out the window.

There’s a twenty minute stop halfway between Toledo and their destination where Jughead uses some cash from his Mom to pick up a burner phone from the supermarket. He’s been going a little crazy not knowing what’s happening in Riverdale, but he refuses to use his own phone out of fear Hiram might have a trace on it, or something. He puts his Dad’s number in, hits dial.

“Dad,” he says when it clicks, because FP’s always been kind of funny about unknown numbers (perks of being in a gang, he guesses). “It’s me.”

“ _Jughead?_  Where the hell are you?”

Jughead laughs. He’s sitting on a bench by the bus stop while Archie buys snacks, and suddenly he’s really grateful that he’s alone. Maybe he’s not handling this whole 'on the run' thing as well as he thinks he is.

“I’m fine,” he says, “I’m with Archie.”

His dad grumbles. “I shoulda guessed. You and Red disappear off the face of the planet and I’m supposed to think you’re not together?”

Jughead doesn’t really know what to say to that. “Yeah, well, we’re okay,” he says. “How are things back there?”

There’s shuffling movements on the other end. Maybe he’s busy. Jughead looks at his shoes.

“A mess,” says Dad. “The whole town’s gone fuckin’ crazy — nobody knows what’s going on.”

“The Serpents?”

FP laughs, the sound rough. “Oh, yeah, they were real fond of the way you just packed up and left. Shoulda heard Sweet Pea. Boy chewed me out in front of everyone for puttin’ you in charge.”

Jughead winces. “Sorry. But — you know. It’s Archie.”

 _Dad’ll get it_ , thinks Jughead. If anyone’s gonna know how it feels to drop everything for an Andrews —

“Yeah, I know,” says FP, a resigned note to his voice. “Look, how ‘bout I take over for you while you’re off with your pal? Otherwise you’re gonna come back to a mess of steamin’ shit.”

Jughead feels his mouth tick up, but at least that’s one burden off his shoulders. “Thought you retired?”

FP lets out a drawl. “Well, y’know. You don’t really leave this kind of life behind.”

Jughead chews on his lip. He can see Archie in the service station across the street, at the checkout, baseball cap fixed firmly on his head. He wonders if the statement applies to him too, and hopes that it doesn’t.

“Maybe,” he says. “Look, Dad, I better go.”

“Okay. You be careful, alright?”

“I will.” On a whim, Jughead adds: “Oh, uh, can you check on Betty for me? I left her a message but — I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her.”

He feels his dad frown. “Yeah, I can do that. You want me to give her this number?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

They say goodbye and Jughead waits for Archie to return from the shop, checking his watch to see how long they have left at this stop. He’s sitting on the back part of the bench, sneakers resting on the seat, because apparently he’s incapable of sitting on things properly. Archie tosses him a packet of chips as he nears, and Jughead nearly falls off trying to catch them.

“Hey,” says Archie, laughing. “Who’d you call?”

“My dad.” Archie nods, and Jughead offers the phone to him. “You wanna call yours?”

Archie shakes his head, but that’s okay. Jughead gets it. “I think we should get to the youth centre in another hour or so,” he says. “Unless you don’t wanna go there anymore.”

“No, that's fine,” says Archie. “It’s a good plan, Jug.”

“Thanks,” he adds, and fiddles with the shopping bag. “For sticking with me.”

 _Always_ , Jughead thinks, because he’s a sap. He punches Archie lightly in the arm. "Whatever. You got any pretzels in there?"

Archie makes a noise that he classifies as 'exasperated fondness' and digs out the bag, chucking that one at him too.

Jughead rips into it without pretence, stuffing about six into his mouth. "Marry me," he deadpans.

Archie laughs, but he kind of looks like he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> archie and jughead sitting next to each other on a bus that is literally empty............ idiots....... i hate them


	3. the wait is long, and heavy too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before any of you start thinking that i’m having _actual plot_ i just want you all to know that this story is solely dedicated to archie and jughead being gay and stupid. i swear the youth centre is just a bunch of good adults. you know, like the kind you get outside of riverdale
> 
> anyway enjoyyyy i promise they’ll get their shit together soon

By the time they reach their destination, the sun is already setting in the sky, casting the suburbia into an orange glow. It’s a little too picturesque for Jughead’s taste — too Edward Scissorhands — but at least it doesn’t immediately make his hackles rise, and even though he searches there’s no G&G symbol in sight, so the place can’t be too bad.

Archie hauls Jughead’s bag off the bus, Jughead carrying the rucksack and clutching a scrap of paper. He squints at the address, and then looks up to search for a street sign.

This would be so much easier if he could use his phone.

They wander along the main road for a bit, chatting, before eventually Archie says: “This is no good, Jug. Maybe we should look for somewhere else.”

Jughead sighs. The town is all houses and backyards, and there’s been no sign of anything so official as a community hall, let alone a youth centre. He eyes the houses with distrust.

“I’m not staying with someone again,” he says, and Archie huffs an agreement.

“Yeah,” he says, blowing air out of his cheeks. “That was my bad.”

Jughead grins a little despite himself and knocks Archie’s shoulder. “So what do you wanna do?”

Archie glances around. “Let’s sit for a bit,” he says, “I’m exhausted.”

It‘s late, and the bus ride was surprisingly tiring in the way only long bus rides can be, so Jughead shrugs in agreement and settles down on the sidewalk. Archie follows suit, setting the bag down and sitting beside him. Without meaning to — or maybe the opposite — Jughead leans against him and lets his head droop onto Archie’s shoulder.

“We’re in a pickle, Arch,” he says, and feels the answering laugh reverberate through him.

“We’ll think of something,” says Archie, full of boundless optimism even now, after everything. When he speaks next Jughead can picture the corner of his mouth ticking up in a bashful, amused grin. “Probably, anyway.”

Jughead smiles, and lets his eyes drift closed.

***

Half an hour later Jughead hears the sounds of someone approaching, and opens his eyes from where he’s been dozing against Archie’s shoulder. He’s a little embarrassed, and can feel pink spreading across the highs of his cheekbones, but he shoves that down to think about later. A pair of dirty trainers are making a hesitant but determined beeline for them.

“Are you alright?” asks the girl wearing them, stopping a couple of yards away. She’s got short hair tucked behind her ears and big, wide eyes like Betty, narrowed in a frown directed their way. The rugby jumper she’s wearing is three sizes too big and knotted at the waist, and the result is that she looks imposingly triangular.

Jughead pulls his head off Archie’s shoulder when she speaks, and says, clipped: “Yes.”

She shifts her weight and purses her lips, tapping her fingers on her arm. “You look lost.”

Archie, because he’s Archie, says: “We’re looking for the youth shelter.”

“Oh,” she says, and laughs. Her face softens and her shoulders relax, and the difference is remarkable. Jughead wonders if she was deliberately trying to give the impression she could beat them up or if she really _could_ , and has now just decided she won’t. “Youth shelter,” she chuckles, almost to herself. “You mean Jane’s. It’s about a block away.”

She cocks her head at them. “I’m going that way now, if you want to walk with me.”

Archie looks at him. Jughead can tell he wants to take her offer, and frankly he can’t think of a better option that doesn’t involve them kipping on a park bench, even if this does seem just a little too perfect. He weighs the pros and cons in his head and settles on giving it a shot, nodding at Archie. Archie nods back.

“Alright,” he says, and gets up. His knees crack with the movement, and he grimaces. He holds out a hand to help Archie up, hauling him to his feet.

“I’m Claire, by the way,” says the girl as they gather their things. “Since you didn’t ask. Who are you?”

“I’m Biff, this is Cal,” says Archie as he shoulders the pack, and Claire bursts into laughter.

“Alright,” she says. “Sure. And I’m Marty Mcfly.”

Jughead grins. She reminds him of Toni, and he decides he likes her. “There isn’t a ‘Cal’ in that movie,” he comments, and she shrugs her shoulders.

“First thing I thought of.”

She starts to walk off, so they follow her, jogging a couple of steps to catch up.

“Archie and Jughead,” says Jughead as they fall into line, and she laughs again.

“How do your real names sound even faker than your fake ones?” she asks, and Archie looks put out. 

“Hey,” he says, but his tone is light. “‘Archie’ is a perfectly respectable name.”

“Sure, Archibald,” says Jughead, and Claire snaps her fingers in delight.

“I _knew_ it’d be short for Archibald!” she beams. “I was gonna make that joke.”

They round the street corner, and Claire says: “So how come you’re looking for Jane’s, anyway?”

“It’s complicated,” says Jughead, when Archie stays silent. “Had some parent trouble.”

He’s thinking of Hiram, but Claire nods knowingly. “Yeah,” she says, “I get that.”

She sniffs, and points ahead of them. “That’s Jane’s, on the end. She couldn’t get the budget for a proper youth centre here so she decided to use her own house, put a couple of kids up in the spare bedrooms. It’s kind of hush-hush, though, so don’t shout it around. One of those things you don’t really know about unless you need it.”

Alarm bells go off in Jughead’s head but he tries to tramp it down, reminding himself that his mom recommended this, and also that it sounds like exactly the sort of thing Fred Andrews would do.

“How come she started?” asks Archie, and Claire shrugs.

“Think her and her wife got kicked out of their own houses as kids, decided they didn’t want anyone else sleeping on the streets. I’ve been living with them about a year. They’re good people. Just make sure to tell Jane if you’re vegan or anything because tomorrow’s breakfast is bacon and eggs.”

Jughead makes a derisive noise in the back of his throat — _vegan_! — and Archie elbows him, but he’s grinning, too.

***

Night has fallen by the time they reach Jane’s, so Claire lets them in with her key, pausing halfway into the hallway. She squints at them. The shadows fall strangely across her face, and Jughead recognises that she’s got the face to be quite the successful actress, nose-ring and all.

“I realise now that I maybe should have been concerned you were serial killers,” she says in hushed tones, fingers still curled around her keys.

“We won’t hurt you,” says Archie, all big eyes and bigger heart. “We just need a place to stay.”

Jughead nods wordlessly in support. He definitely does not think about how trusting Archie is or how he’s been through so much and is still so, so kind. Claire’s mouth twitches.

“Never play poker,” she says to Archie kindly, and Jughead smiles. He adds how much smiling he’s doing on this trip ( _escape? hideout?)_ to his list of things to Not Think About, and steps closer to Archie just in case something goes bad. The backs of their hands brush and Archie’s fingers twitch like he wants to grab hold, but Jughead talks himself out of it and instead contemplates throwing himself into a sun.

“Come on,” whispers Claire, and they follow her up through the house in half darkness. They shuffle past several doors, slivers of yellow light peeking out beneath some, until Claire lets herself into one near the end of the hallway, flicking on the light. It turns out to be a study, with a couch pressed up along the far wall.

“Sorry” says Claire, ushering them in and leaning down to pull something from under the desk. “Normally we have more room, but I guess parents must take a break from being decent to their kids this time of year. We’re full up.”

She stands back up with two heavy blankets in her hands, and winces. “Either of you got a camping mattress?”

“I do,” says Archie, and she nods.

“You can fight amongst yourselves as to who gets the couch, then,” she says. “I’ll let Jane and Ally know you’re here, you can meet them tomorrow. It’s late and I’ve got a cracking headache.”

She dumps the blankets on the couch. “Breakfast is at nine, bathroom is two doors over on this side. Reckon you two can survive till morning?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” says Jughead dryly. Archie shoots him a look, but he can’t help it. He’s tired and on edge and he sort of wishes it were just the two of them, and he’s feeling snappy.

“Great,” says Claire. “Don’t murder us in our sleep and we should be good.”

“Night,” says Archie. As soon as she’s gone Jughead sinks onto the couch. He puts his elbows on his knees and rubs at his tired eyes, not looking up until Archie nudges his foot.

“You alright, Jug?”

“Peachy,” says Jughead, and Archie rolls his eyes. He must deem the answer satisfactory, though, because he gets to work on unpacking their things.

“She seems nice,” he says, offhandedly. Jughead feels something ugly and bitter rise up in his chest.

“I guess.” He’s surprised at how surly his tone comes out, and Archie raises his eyebrows at him.

“You don’t like her?”

“She’s fine,” says Jughead, rubbing his eyebrow. “I’m just — tired.”

“You take the couch,” says Archie, “I’ll sleep on the floor, it’s fine.”

“Archie,” says Jughead, because no way is he letting Archie sleep on the floor. He tugs off his beanie and tosses it over to where he put the rucksack, then gets to work on removing his jacket, pausing at the look on Archie’s face. “What?”

Archie blinks at him, expression open and slack-jawed. “Nothing,” he says, looking a little flushed. Jughead eyes his thick jacket distrustfully and glances around for the thermostat, wondering about turning the heat down.

“I’m not letting you sleep on the floor,” he says, distractedly. “I mean it, pal.”

Archie pauses in his unpacking of the camping mattress. “Fine, whatever,” he says, and Jughead winces.

“What about you? Are you okay?”

Archie glances up. “Yeah,” he says, face twisting oddly, “Yeah, I’m fine, dude.”

“Right,” says Jughead, and rearranges the couch cushions so Archie’ll have one for his head. He gets his sleeping bag out of the bag and places it on the mattress, wriggling down into it. Archie’s mouth does something funny.

“Here,” he says, handing Jughead a blanket and toeing off his sneakers. He settles down onto the couch, groaning, and pulls a blanket over himself. Jughead reaches up to hit the light.

“God, I miss my bed,” says Archie. Jughead huffs.

“Yeah.” He rolls onto his side so he’s facing the couch. It’s not particularly high, and if he wanted to he could probably reach up and take Archie’s hand, like the other night in the hotel. He makes half a motion to and then aborts it, tucking his hand into his sleeping bag almost defensively.

Archie rolls over. Jughead supposes it was a stupid idea anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD there was SO much exposition this chapter. if it makes you guys feel better though the youth centre is the backdrop for all the gushy relationship stuff so i kinda had to set it up. next chapter is the bughead break up too so get keen for that bad boy. maybe they’ll even KISS i mean WHO KNOWS
> 
> ps authors note but yeah archie was totally thinking about doing the same thing at the end there and yeah he reached out and missed jugheads hand by like. a second. just a fun fact for you all


	4. so hard to explain, so easy to feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pop the champers ladies, bughead are breaking up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huh.....wow....... what a long chapter??? i wonder.......why....?

Jughead wakes to the growling of his stomach, groggy and alone. Archie’s blanket is thrown haphazardly over the couch, the pillow still dented from the night before. Jughead props himself up on his elbows and fumbles for the burner phone — 8:52. He flips it shut and rubs a hand over his eyes. The couch is still warm, which is comforting (Archie can’t have been gone long), but he forces himself to get up and go searching for Archie anyway, just to make sure he hasn’t gotten himself into trouble.

( _codependent_ , screams his brain. _codependent, codependent, codependent!_

_shut up_ , thinks Jughead.)

The hallway is pretty much the same as the night before, though half the doors are open to reveal bedrooms that he peeks into out of curiosity — some more lived-in than others, with obvious personal touches, and others that centre around suitcases, ready to go at a moments notice. He descends the stairs and heads towards voices, belatedly wondering if he should have tried to make himself presentable and changed out of yesterday’s clothes. Whatever.

Archie is in the kitchen, and Jughead feels his whole body relax at the sight of him — flipping eggs and grinning and warm and bright in a way he hasn’t been for a long time. He does a quick headcount of the kids filling the room; at least seven, all of them looking rather shabby, and the two older women fussing over Archie’s cooking skills. More sounds come from the adjacent room, and Jughead wonders just _how many_ people are living under this roof.

“Sup.”

Jughead jumps as Claire appears at his shoulder, resting her hand on his shoulder and still in the same jumper as yesterday.

“Uh — hi,” he says, and she grins up at him.

“See your boyfriend’s making himself useful,” she says, and Jughead ricochets onto another plane of existence. She raises her voice. “Yo, Biff!”

Archie looks round, though Jughead suspects that has more to do with the shouting than any sort of recognition of the name. He smiles wider, dimples appearing in his cheeks. Jughead sort of loves him.

“Hey, Claire. Jug.”

“Morning,” manages Jughead, ambling over to him.

Archie gestures at the woman he’s helping cook. “This is Jane. Jane, this is Jughead.”

Jane grins at him, and shakes his hand vigorously. Her hand is sticky from the egg yolks, and she has a gap between her two front teeth. She has the look of someone who has spent her whole life smiling.

Jughead doesn’t trust lightly these days, but he thinks if he did Jane could make the list currently consisting of _Archie Andrews, Fred Andrews, Betty Cooper_ , pretty easily.

“Hello,” she says, and turns back to the eggs. “Archie’s told me all about you.”

Jughead gives Archie a sideways look, who blushes under it.

“I didn’t — not _all_ about you — I’ve only been up ten minutes —“

Jane laughs, waving a hand around airily. “Bless,” she says. Jughead leans against the counter as she starts shovelling eggs and rashes of bacon onto plates before passing them off to the woman he assumes is her wife. “I’m glad Claire found you when she did, I’d hate to think of you spending the night on the street when we were right nearby.”

Jughead shrugs. “Oh, yeah. Thanks for letting us stay, we won’t be here long.”

Jane’s wife pauses in her collection of the latest breakfast. “Not a problem,” she says firmly, “Claire told us about your parent trouble — stay as long as you need.”

Archie coughs, and Jughead settles on nodding. “Yeah, well — thanks, I guess.”

She hands him and Archie plates, “You’re welcome. Now, go eat. You look like you haven’t had a good meal in a week.”

“He hasn’t,” chimes Archie, and Jughead elbows him.

“My mother’s cooking doesn’t count as good meal?”

Archie pretends to consider this, and a strange, warm feeling spreads out from Jughead’s chest.

“It was no Pop’s,” teases Archie eventually, and Jughead can’t even find it in himself to keep up pretence and be annoyed at him.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, and Archie gives him a pleased look. Jane’s wife shoves the plates further into their hands.

“ _Go_ ,” she says. Archie opens his mouth, gesturing at the eggs, and Jane slaps his wrist gently. 

“Eat your breakfast,” she says, echoing her wife. “I’m fine here. I’ve been making eggs for forty years, I can make a couple more.”

“I’ll wash up,” says Archie, in compromise, and both women get a look on their face that Jughead recognises immediately. It’s the look of falling hopelessly, head over heels for Archie Andrews, because it’s just that impossible not to.

Jane shoos them over to the table, two chairs recently vacated, and Jughead shrugs and gets to eating, not stupid enough to turn down a free meal. Archie introduces himself to the other people in the kitchen and makes small talk, and Jughead notes their names down in his head disinterestedly, focusing on his breakfast.

Archie is talking to one of the kids — Alex, 13, bruised eye — when the phone in Jughead’s pocket buzzes. He flips it open, ignoring the kid’s snort at the outdated tech, and feels his stomach drop in that way it seems inclined to do these days.

Betty’s number.

“I gotta take this,” he mutters, shoving his plate at Archie. “You can eat the rest of my bacon.”

He excuses himself into the hall without waiting for a reply, then hits accept with shaking fingers.

“Betty?”

“ _Jug!_ ” 

Jughead sags against the wall when she answers, relieved and worried and nauseous all at once.

“Where are you?” asks Betty frantically, and he pictures her pacing in her bedroom, biting down viciously on her thumb. “Is Archie there? No, wait, don’t answer that. Are you alright? Are you safe?”

Jughead feels himself laugh, but it sounds strained even to his own ears.

“Yeah,” he says, “We’re fine. Are — are you?”

Betty sighs in relief, obviously catching his (not exactly subtle) hint about Archie. “Yes,” she says. “I would have called earlier but I didn’t see your message. I’ve been in the Sisters, it was a whole thing.”

Suddenly alert, Jughead pushes himself upright in panic. “Wait, what? Why the hell were you —?”

“My mother,” interrupts Betty preemptively, and tells him the whole, grizzly story.

“Holy shit,” he says, and falls back against the wall. “Betts, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” says Betty. “But Hiram’s working with them, or using them. I think it’s to test out the drugs — the fizzle rocks — but I — I don’t know. It’s all so complicated.”

She stays silent for a long moment. “How’s Archie?”

Jughead bites his tongue. “He’s —“ he starts, and then changes course. “I don’t know. I’m trying to keep him safe —“

He breaks off and Betty sighs. 

“You’re doing a good thing, Jug,” she says, and Jughead is so _tired_.

“He’s my best friend,” he says, like that will solve it, and like it’s enough.

“I know,” she says, and Jughead slides down so he’s sitting on the floor. “I love him, too.”

“Yeah,” says Jughead. He stares at the blank patch of wall in front of him. “Listen, Betty, I know this is — shit, this is the worst time to be doing this, but I think that you and I, that we should...”

“I know,” says Betty again, not unkindly. “I’ve been expecting it.”

She gives a small, sad little sigh. “I love you, but I think we’ve run our course.”

“Yeah.” Jughead’s throat feels all tight. “I‘m sorry, Betty.”

“It’s alright,” she says. “This is all... way more mixed up than I thought it would be. Ronnie’s dad is a _mobster_. You and Archie are _on the run_.”

Jughead smiles bitterly. Betty hesitates. “Do you think — will you come back to Riverdale?”

Jughead glances at the door to the kitchen. “I don’t know.”

In a rush, she says: “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. Sometimes I want to leave and get away from it all, because it’s all too much, but then — I don’t know who would — Hiram has to be stopped, Jug, and you’re — I think you’re —“

She breaks off, and Jughead leans his head back to stare at a blank patch of ceiling instead.

“When Archie’s alright,” he hears himself say, and Betty makes a resigned noise.

“Be safe, Jug,” she says softly, and then: “I’m sorry, I have to go. Will you keep in touch?”

“Sure,” says Jughead. “If you get in trouble, I put my dad back in charge of the Serpents, he’ll look after you.”

He feels Betty smile. “Thank you.”

“I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Yes,” says Betty. “Tell Archie I said ‘hi,’ okay?”

She hangs up and Jughead lets his arm fall to his side, not bothering to close the flip phone. He feels strung out and exhausted even though he’d managed to sleep through the night, and his breakfast rests heavy in his stomach. He sits there for a while, thinking, until Archie comes looking for him.

“Hey,” he says, “Everything okay back home?”

Jughead nods. “It was Betty,” he says, and sees a pained expression Archie tries to hide flash across his face. “We broke up.”

He didn’t mean to say that, and wrinkles his nose at his shitty filter. Archie swallows.

“Oh. I’m sorry, dude.”

Jughead shrugs. “Whatever, it’s fine. We weren’t — we were — weird.”

Unlike last time it doesn’t turn into a joke, Archie instead sitting down cross-legged beside him, joining him in staring at the wall.

“Still,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Archie fiddle with the cuff of his jumper.

“Spit it out,” he says.

“Oh.” Archie shrugs lightly. “Uh — Ally suggested we go wander ‘round the town a bit, go check out the shops.”

Jughead racks his brain. “Ally?”

“Jane’s wife.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess. Unless — I thought you might want to hang out with Claire.”

He hadn’t thought that, doesn’t know why he says it, either — it sounds petty and jealous and he wonders why he can’t just have bacon and eggs and Archie smiling at him across a kitchen and not try and ruin it. He guesses that would be too easy.

“Nah,” says Archie simply. “Not really. I wanted to go with you.”

Jughead heaves a breath into his lungs, lets it rattle about there for a bit. “Yeah,” he says, “Alright. Let’s do it.”

***

The ten minute walk is punctuated by Archie’s attempts to cheer him up and periods of silence as he tries to figure out things to say. Jughead trails along, eyes glossing over the houses and fingers twitching every now and again to his camera, but he can’t really work up any drive to get it out and snap a picture. He feels like a wire, stretched taught and ready to snap.

They wander into a charity shop, because Jughead was in a hurry when he packed their bags and is just now starting to realise the consequences — the consequences being, of course, that two sets of clothes isn’t really enough to sustain being on the run for an indefinite amount of time.

“Jughead,” says Archie as they flick through t-shirts, and pokes him in the arm. “Jughead.”

Jughead looks up from the neon-green monstrosity he’s examining. “What?”

Archie feigns innocence. “Nothing.”

Jughead gives him a look that he hopes conveys just how weird he thinks Archie’s being, and goes back to looking through the clothing rack. Archie pokes him again.

“Christ, Archie, _what?_ ”

Archie beams at him, delighted. “I knew I could make you smile.”

Jughead blinks, and rearranges his face into his best attempt at neutral. He feels like he does a shitty job. “I’m not smiling.”

“Yeah, you are,” says Archie. “You’re allowed to have fun, Jug.”

Jughead huffs. “I was having fun before you started poking me incessantly.”

Archie, ever mature, just pokes him again, this time in the cheek. He leaves his hand there, hovering about an inch from the skin. Jughead bites on his tongue, and manages to ignore it for all of five seconds.

“Stop it,” he says, as if he doesn’t know how this plays out, as if this wasn’t Archie’s favourite joke for a whole week when they were kids.

Archie gives him a shit-eating grin. “Stop what? I’m not touching you.”

“Are you ten?” asks Jughead. “Really, are you?”

Archie keeps grinning.

“Fuck,” says Jughead. “Fine, you idiot. Stop not touching me.”

Archie beams, and pokes his finger hard into Jughead’s cheek until he leans away to escape it, a laugh bubbling up in him unbidden.

“Literally fuck off,” laughs Jughead, batting him away. “God, you’re such a child.”

Archie laughs too, and shoulders Jughead along the clothing rack. He parts the clothes to reveal one of those terribly tacky t-shirts with slogans on them, this one loudly proclaiming: _I love my attitude problem_. Jughead wants it immediately.

“Ugh, that’s bad” Archie says, and Jughead feels himself slip into the routine, lips curling up at the corners and shoulders losing some of the tension they’ve been carrying.

_(he’s thirteen, and he’s showing off a cardigan obviously designed to rival joseph’s technicolor coat. archie is doubled over laughing at him._

_“you look ridiculous,” he says, and jughead says —)_

“I like it,” says Jughead, and Archie shoots him a look.

“Don’t,” he warns, which just solidifies Jughead’s resolve to do just that. He nods decisively to himself.

“I’m going to buy it,” he says firmly, and Archie lets out a long, suffering groan.

***

He spends four dollars on it, which is frankly three dollars fifty more than it deserves, and when Archie rolls his eyes at him after he changes into it he says:

“But I _do_ love my attitude problem, Arch.”

“You’re so annoying,” says Archie, and Jughead feels lighter than he has in a long time. For a second he wants nothing more than to go back to Riverdale — to have this with Betty and Veronica and Cheryl and all of them. He thinks he probably wants to spend the rest of his life annoying Archie Andrews.

“Got it in one,” says Jughead, and tugs on Archie’s elbow, yanking him in the direction of the coffee shop he saw earlier. “Let’s eat.”

“Are you ever not thinking about food?” teases Archie as they fall into step.

“No,” says Jughead, confidently, even though the answer is _sometimes I think about you._

***

On the walk back he finally finds something worth documenting, as Archie walks along the curb like it’s a tightrope. He keeps losing balance, which Jughead thinks is hilarious.

“Your agility is shit,” he says, lining up the shot, and Archie gives him the finger right as Jughead hits capture. Jughead grins and imagines he’ll treasure the photo forever.

He snaps a few other photos of the houses and the stray cat Archie stops to coo at, and then one of a fancy old Mercedes because Mr A likes that sort of thing. He gets one of Archie looking just off camera, hair glowing golden in the afternoon sun, and suddenly can’t remember what exactly he was laughing at. It’s a sudden and inconvenient reminder of the ache in his chest, which is so strong he’s starting to doubt it ever went away, and god, love really is overrated if it feels like this.

He doesn’t think of what it would be like if Archie loved him back. That's a rabbit hole he doesn't really want to go down, especially not while Archie's busy looking the way he does and it's just the two of them on a deserted street corner where there's nothing to stop him. The problem is, of course, that he sort of does anyway, because he’s still looking at that stupid picture and the real thing is _right in front_ of him, and they’re not in Riverdale anymore — there’s no gangs or suicidal teens here, it’s just him and _Archie_ , so really, why the hell _shouldn’t_ he—?

He lowers the camera and methodically shuts it off, heart racing. Forget the rabbit hole, he's firmly in Wonderland territory. It's just that Riverdale has taken so much from him _(his mother, his sister, his safety, his best friend)_ , and he thinks that he _should_ , he should get to have this one thing. He's not stupid enough to think he deserves it but god, he wants it.

He readjusts the camera strap so the camera sits behind his hip, and wipes his palms on his jeans.

He _wants_ it.

“Jug?” Archie cocks his head at him, smile sliding slowly off his face. “You okay?”

Jughead shakes his head, and takes the four steps over to him with knees that feel like jelly. Archie doesn’t step back, not even when they end up practically toe to toe, Archie’s sneakers facing off Jughead’s battered old boots.

“No,” he says, and grimaces at the hoarseness of his voice. “Archie, I —“

Oh, _shit_ , this was a terrible idea. Jughead’s vocal cords cut out, and he can’t do anything but stare. He tries, but he can’t seem to get his eyes off Archie’s mouth.

“Jug,” says Archie, and Jughead tracks the bobbing of his Adam’s apple _(“archie’s apple”, says archie’s voice in his head)_ when he swallows. “What is it?“

His hand lands on Jughead’s shoulder, the weight warm and heavy and familiar, and he squeezes gently, fingers pressing into the muscle.

“I’m having a crisis,” manages Jughead, impressed when it comes out somewhat steadily, and watches Archie tug his bottom lip between his teeth in worry. “On whether to do something or not.”

Archie’s brow creases. “Okay,” he says, slowly, “What are you thinking about doing?”

Jughead swallows, and settles one shaky hand on the lapel of Archie’s jacket, and tugs his face a little closer. Archie’s eyes go wide.

“Jughead?” His voice cracks, and Jughead juts his chin up, defiant, and sees the realisation on Archie’s face flicker into something else, something aching and disbelieving and _loving_. He circles his fingers around Jughead’s wrist, but he doesn’t push it away.

“ _Jug_ ,” he says, so softly it sounds like a plea, and _really_ , what else was Jughead supposed to do?

There is a scale of the milestones in his life so far, and it ranges from _completely fucked up_ to _alright, i guess_. In the last two years alone he’s solved a murder and nearly gotten himself killed, both of which were things that veered rather more dangerously towards the first category than he would have liked. But, before that — _before before before_ — there was Betty, and before her there was teaching Jellybean to roller skate, and before that there was the tree house and sneaking into the drive-in and breaking his arm when he was eight. There was stealing Archie’s _X-Men_ comics and falling in love with him before he even really knew what it was to, and then there was the summer and the fighting and the feeling that he’d been cleaved clean in two. There was good and there was bad and the point, the _point_ is that _none_ of these things have not ever, not once, compared to what it is like to kiss Archie Andrews.

He kisses Archie and Archie kisses back, and it’s dizzying and slow and like breathing and drowning all at once. Jughead can’t, honestly, believe he waited so long to do this.

“Shit,” mumbles Archie against his lips and pulls back, breathing hard. “Jug, ’m sorry, I shouldn’t‘ve — you and Betty _just_ broke up—“

Jughead tightens his grip on Archie’s jacket, his eyes still firmly closed because if he opens them he thinks he might die of over stimulation, and tries to process rational thought.

“Arch,” he says, and Archie, blessedly, stops talking, “I kissed _you_.”

The smile that threatens to break onto Archie’s face makes Jughead’s heart do all sorts of funny things, and he absently wonders if he’s going to have to get some medication for it.

“You did,” says Archie, and the grin splits across his face in full force, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His cheeks are pink and Jughead is so in love. “Yeah.”

Jughead can’t help it: he smiles back.

Archie bites his lip. “Can I kiss you again?”

Jughead huffs. “I _suppose,_ ” he says, and Archie does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARCHIE CAN I KISS YOU ANDREWS
> 
> SCREAM omfg. i hope this satisfies the build up i thought it might be too dramatic but then i’m like nah this is over a decades worth of pining coming to fruition here it’s gotta be big. fuck!!!
> 
> ALSO wow two updates less than three days apart? who am i?? damn. anyway hope u guys enjoyed this and that it was worth the wait!!! please consider leaving a comment i love reading them so much!!


	5. that's what scares me so

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m _bored_ ,” whines Cheryl. “Absolutely nothing of consequence has happened since you and Archie eloped. It’s like you took all the stupid with you.”
> 
> “Thanks,” says Jughead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to quote my uni's language professor: welcome ladies, gentlemen........ and gays
> 
> some things  
> 1\. this chapter is SUPER dumb and i also discovered that idk how to write jughead when hes not being moody and annoying. i miss archie.  
> 2\. i honestly didnt intend to include cheryl in this story but she sort of showed up anyway bc i think her and jughead have unexplored potential. sue me  
> 3\. i forgot to link jughead's terrible shirt last chapter but [here she is](https://www.forever21.com/us/shop/catalog/product/21men/mens-main/2000336061)! now u too can make ur childhood best friend fall in love w u through the power of forever 21!

Jughead walks the rest of the way back to the house with his hand twined around Archie Andrews’, their fingers looped together and hanging in the space between them. He thinks he might be dying.

_(“we should get back,” mumbles archie against jughead’s lips, fingers curled in the collar of his jacket._

_“right,” says jughead, faintly.)_

Archie keeps looking over at him with this small, secret smile, and every time he does Jughead’s heart stutters in his chest, which is weird and new but definitely not unpleasant. He tries to focus on other things, like not stepping on cracks or counting his steps, but the second his mind wanders off he always comes back to Archie, and the weight of his hand in Jughead’s own. He knows they should be talking; about how long they can stay at the youth shelter, about where they might move on to next, about what this actually _means_ , but — he sort of just doesn’t care. It’s freeing.

Claire wolf-whistles when they get back, tilting her head up from where she’s stretched across the couch and browsing Netflix. “Damn, Archie,” she says, looking Jughead up and down with a smirk. “Who knew shitty shirts were such a turn on for you?”

Archie blinks. “They’re...not?”

Jughead tugs at his collar, face hot. “I’ll have you know this shirt is actually super rad,” he defends. “Also. How did you know.”

He doesn’t bother to say it like a question, but that’s mostly because he’s struggling to keep his face neutral until it decides whether it wants to grin or frown. He thinks Claire probably doesn’t mean anything by it, but there’s a part of him that’s struggling to let this _thing_ into the light of day — it’s spent so long nameless, curled and tucked beneath his ribcage, that he doesn’t quite think he’s ready to have it picked apart just yet.

Claire, of course, doesn’t know any of this, and just grins at him. “You’ve got a serious case of pash-rash, buddy,” she says, and Jughead instinctively reaches up to scrub at his mouth. She cackles. “Plus it’s, like, radiating off you both. It’s so obvious. And you’re still holding hands.”

Jughead risks a glance at Archie, and — oh. He kind of sees what she means. He wouldn’t have said Archie was tense, before, but. Yeah. Maybe it is kind of obvious. The realisation sends warmth thrumming through his bones, and suddenly the fact that he has kissed Archie Andrews, and will probably get to kiss him again in the near future, is appearing written in front of him in startling black and white print, impossible to ignore.

“Point,” concedes Jughead, and clears his throat. Claire turns back to the TV, and Jughead feels Archie shift next to him, the air between them suddenly becoming uncertain.

“So,” says Archie, and his fingers twitch. “What do you guys normally do here?”

Claire shrugs. “Hang out, I guess. Most of us still go to school. I think there might be a game of Monopoly happening in the kitchen.”

“Right. Jug?”

Jughead can’t look at him. He thinks he might be gearing up for a panic attack, and disentangles his hand from Archie’s so he doesn’t feel how sweaty it’s getting.

“I need to put my stuff down,” he says, tugging at the camera strap still hanging round his neck. He catches a glimpse of Archie’s face and it’s all sort of confused and hurt, which makes Jughead feel even worse.

“Okay,” says Archie. “Um, should I come with you?”

Jughead’s pretty sure he hears Claire snicker. “If you want,” he says, even though he mostly said it as an excuse for a minute to himself. He doesn’t say anything as Archie follows him up to the study, not even when Archie closes the door behind him, sealing them off in the tiny room. 

He busies himself with putting his camera away, wiping the lens with the bottom of his shirt before stowing it back in his bag. He can feel Archie watching him, so he rearranges the contents for a moment to avoid looking at him.

Archie ignores this. “You’re freaking out,” he says.

“No I’m not,” says Jughead, fumbling with the bag’s zipper. He pulls it too hard and it jams, slips between his fingers. They’re shaking.

“Jug,” says Archie, and one hand settles on Jughead’s back, between his shoulder blades. “Breathe, dude.”

“It’s —“ starts Jughead, only now he’s turned to look at him and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to look at anything else, let alone form coherent sentences. Archie’s hand slips off him and it feels like losing an anchor while out at sea. “I’m not — Archie,  I’m —”

He stops and breathes in deliberately, looking at the carpet. It’s green. He looks back at Archie. “I think I’m freaking out.”

He’s trying for sardonic, but it comes out very much not like that at all. Archie makes a face that’s sort of exasperated and amused and sympathetic all at the same time, and pulls him into a hug. Jughead lets him, and it’s so — it’s so _something_ , and he tucks his face into the crook of Archie’s neck and relishes in the heat of his skin, because apparently that’s just his life now. He doesn’t understand how kissing Archie felt like breaking the dam, yet he still feels stuck in limbo.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and closes his eyes. Archie drops his head down onto Jughead’s shoulder, which is surprising, because he always forgets that he and Archie are more or less the same height now. It feels weird that there’s no longer a foot and a growth spurt between them, no physical manifestation of their differences. 

“You okay?” asks Archie against Jughead’s jacket, slightly muffled. 

“I think I ruined it,” confesses Jughead, and Archie shakes his head.

“Do you remember when we were kids,” he says, unhooking himself from Jughead. “And people thought we were telepathic?”

Archie steps away from him, scrubbing at the back of his neck and looking embarrassed. Jughead nods.

“It’s just,” says Archie. “Everything used to be so simple. And now I don’t — I don’t know how to _talk_ to you about this, Jug.”

Jughead blinks. “Oh.” 

Archie rocks forward slightly on the balls of his feet, eyes flitting around the room, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “And I know — I know it’s difficult, not being in Riverdale, but if you. I mean, if you wanted, we could. Um. Go on a date. If you wanted. I, um — I’ve liked you a pretty long time.”

“Oh,” says Jughead, again, and then his brain catches up, _(i’ve liked you)_ , and then, entirely of its own accord, his mouth splits into a grin. “Alright.”

Archie’s head snaps up, and he grins, too. “Yeah?”

Jughead kicks at the floor a bit. He’s blushing again, which is something he thinks he’s probably going to have to get used to fairly quickly. It’s so embarrassing. “Yes, idiot.”

Archie beams.

***

He’s pretty sure Archie wants to keep kissing, but unlike him Jughead actually has half a brain, so he bypasses it by digging out the maps and trying to work out their next destination. Archie rolls his eyes but doesn’t seem to mind, and he flops down onto the sofa next to him, pointing out towns and circling random street names in permanent marker. Occasionally he flicks the pen in Jughead’s direction. He smiles the entire time. 

“You’re impossible,” says Jughead, and Archie just keeps grinning goofily where he’s using one of the travel guides to make (not very good) black-out poetry.

“This is fun,” he says, not looking up, and Jughead realises that it kind of is.

He gets some alone time when Archie offers to help cook dinner, so Jughead goes and sits in the backyard, squeezing onto the kiddie swing set after determining it probably won’t be crushed under his weight. He scrolls through his contacts on the burner phone — all ones he could remember off the top of his head: Dad’s, Betty’s, Mr Andrews’. There are a few more, because he likes to memorise them when he’s bored, and he flicks through until he gets to Toni’s. Like Betty she’s good at calling him on his bullshit, even if she is a little crass about it, and unlike Betty he didn’t just break up with her. He hits dial. 

After several rings, somebody who is decidedly not Toni picks up.

“Toni’s phone,” says Cheryl Blossom’s carefully clipped voice in his ear, vowels as enunciated as usual. “Make it good, I charge twenty dollars by the minute for my time, extra on Saturdays.”

Jughead is roughly seventy percent sure that Cheryl is not actually a real person. He’s also pretty sure that he actually _hears_ her tap her foot in impatience.

“Hello?” she prompts, when he doesn’t answer. “I don’t have all day.”

“It’s — I was looking for Toni.”

“Is that _Jughead Jones?_ ” asks Cheryl, and her voice takes on a new edge. Jughead tightens his fingers on the phone instinctively. “You’ve got a lot of nerve ringing Toni after up and ditching us for your little Red Paladin, Mister —“

Jughead had forgotten how headache-inducing Cheryl could be. “Is Toni there?” he interrupts, and Cheryl huffs.

“No, obviously. She’s working. _Some of us_ have livelihoods to uphold.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Right. I’m sure living in your fancy mansion is massively difficult." 

“Shut up, Forsyth,” says Cheryl _(“Fuck off,” mumbles Jughead)._ “Evidently you have no idea how difficult it is to service outdated plumbing. Now, what did you want?”

“I _wanted_ to talk to Toni,” he says petulantly, because he can, and because bitching off to Cheryl is familiar and also fun.

“Tough,” says Cheryl. “And whatever it is, I don’t want to hear about it unless it’s you and Archiekins finally sorting your shit out. I’ve got money on it.” 

Jughead opens his mouth and then closes it again. Cheryl pounces in the silence, and in his mind’s eye he sees her a gossip hungry piranha, snapping jaw and all. 

“It _is_ , isn’t it?” she says, with glee. “I knew it. Was it the romantic gesture of dropping your entire life for him?” 

“No,” fumbles Jughead, since his whole brain is filled with _deny deny deny_. “No, what — Cheryl. What.”

“I should start a business,” continues Cheryl thoughtfully, ignoring him. “ _Cheryl’s Closeted Cases_. I bet I’d make a fortune; Riverdale is practically filled with LGBT teens.”

“When’s Toni off work?” asks Jughead, deciding to bypass that entirely, and Cheryl hums.

“An hour, I think. Tell me about your Archie problems.”

Jughead would like to say he thinks about hanging up, but apparently Cheryl is able to add ‘ _freeze’_ as an option to his fight or flight mode, so instead he panics, and says: “There’s no problem.” 

“Mmhmm,” tuts Cheryl. “In that case, dear Jughead, why are you calling Toni?”

“Because — I wanted to know how the Serpents were,” says Jughead, and then adds: “Shockingly, my life doesn’t revolve around Archie Andrews.” 

Cheryl actually bursts into laughter. “Where are you, again?” she asks, and he supposes she does have a bit of a point.

“The Serpents are fine,” she continues, before he can muster up a reply. “Your dad showed up and took control, it’s going well.”

“Oh,” says Jughead, shifting on  the swing. “Well, good.”

“Yep,” chirps Cheryl. “Any other developments — maybe in _your_ life — that you want to discuss?”

Jughead does not, particularly, want to tell Cheryl Blossom that three hours ago he had his tongue down Archie’s throat. 

“Why are you so interested?” he asks, and Cheryl makes a forlorn sound.

“I’m _bored_ ,” she whines. “Absolutely nothing of consequence has happened since you and Archie eloped. It’s like you took all the stupid with you." 

“Thanks,” says Jughead, dryly, and Cheryl makes a kissing sound.

“You’re welcome. I would say that Toni and I have inspired Riverdale’s gay revolution, except that people are only admitting things to _us_ and not to the people they like. It’s no fun knowing things if you can’t talk to others about it.”

Jughead rolls his eyes, but there’s a strange pang of fondness in his chest that he doesn’t quite want to analyse. “I’m shocked you’re respecting people’s privacies.”

“I know.” Despite her words, there’s an undercurrent of pride to her voice that Jughead can just pick up on. “It’s Toni’s fault, she’s making me a better person. But it does make life so _dreadfully_ non-chaotic.”

“Archie and I kissed,” blurts Jughead, and Cheryl makes a ridiculous squawking sound. Jughead immediately regrets it, clamping his mouth shut hard enough to grind his teeth. In the ensuing silence, he wonders if whether crushing the phone would mean it didn’t have enough time to transmit its radio waves all the way over to Cheryl, and they could pretend this hadn’t happened. 

“I —“ starts Cheryl, and Jughead is a little _(a little)_ vindictively pleased that she’s speechless. “For the first time?”

Jughead can’t even _begin_ to contemplate the meaning behind that. “Yes, for the — why would you— never mind, I don’t —“

“Are you alright?” asks Cheryl, and it’s so _not_ Cheryl that it manages to cut all the way through Jughead’s embarrassment and back into the working part of his brain.

“Am I — Are _you_?”

“Yes,” snaps Cheryl immediately. “What, I can’t care about your wellbeing?”

“Well,” he says. “Prior experience would indicate no.”

Cheryl sniffs, and says in a snooty tone: “I invite you to refer to my previous statement, sub-section A, about becoming a better person. Bitch.” 

Again: not a real person. 

“I physically cannot process this conversation,” says Jughead. Cheryl continues as if he hadn’t said anything. 

“ _Anyway_ ,” she starts, “I was only interested because it is _painfully_ obvious, in retrospect, that you and Archie are living out some tragic Greek drama — _it’s Jughead, who else_ — and I was concerned that, possibly, you might need to talk about it, since I am actually a very nice person.”

There’s a short scuffling noise and some muffled speech, and then Toni’s voice comes down the phone. 

“—cool. Also we thought you might need help coming to terms with the fact that you’ve wanted to bone each other for the last two years and have never gotten around to it.”

Jughead hates his life. Dealing with Hiram Lodge has nothing on how he feels right now, cramped up on a kid’s swing set and being attacked by his _acquaintances_.

“Hi, Toni.”.

“Jones,” says Toni, but he can hear her grinning. “I’ve got three minutes before I have to be back out there, so make it snappy.”

“Do you and Cheryl talk about me a lot?”

“A bit,” says Toni. “We mostly make fun of you. What crisis do you need help with today?”

“It’s complicated,” says Jughead, and fills her in.

“Yeah,” says Toni when he’s finished, and Jughead remembers why he likes her, because she doesn’t mess around and also she _gets it._ “It’s fucked up, Jug, I know. This whole town is a mess, and I bet it feels like you and Archie are at the centre of it. But listen — you can’t let it, you can’t let this _town_ , or your family, or whatever goddamn abandonment issues you have hold you back. It’s worth it, Jug. I swear.”

And the thing is, Jughead’s pretty sure she’s right. They say their goodbyes _(“you’re so smart,” coos cheryl in the background),_ and then Jughead spends a while just looking at the home screen of his shitty, twenty dollar phone. He watches the cell service blink up and down, uncertain. He thinks maybe he shouldn’t have spoken to Cheryl and Toni. It was bad enough when it was just his Dad and Betty he was being reminded of, and this is worse, because now he’s thinking of all of them, of Veronica and Sweet Pea and Fangs and even _Kevin_ , and —

Jughead puts the phone in his pocket, kicks at a bit of grass. He wouldn’t have done it differently. Archie needed to get out, and Archie was his best friend and that was always going to trump everything else. It’s just that, before The Summer, it was just _Archie Archie Archie_ all the time. Now Jughead’s got _people_ , in the same way Archie had always had other friends, and he knows that’s _good_ , knows that they’re better because of it and Archie stills comes first anyway, it’s just that — it’s just that —

It’s just that Jughead is sitting in an unfamiliar backyard, and this afternoon he kissed Archie Andrews, but now all he can think is: _I want to go home._

***

Whatever weird, nostalgia-fuelled mood is plaguing Jughead is evidently not affecting Archie in the slightest. When he finally makes his way back into the house for dinner, Archie is busy entertaining the younger children by blatantly cheating at their game of _Uno_ , and acting innocent whenever anyone tries to call him on it. Jughead thinks they should be irritated at him for messing up their game, but then Archie’s dimples appear in his cheeks and Jughead remembers that he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on — there was a week, when they were fourteen, when Jughead broke his undefeated Mario Kart record just to see Archie smile like that. That was followed by Archie calling him on it and Jughead not letting  him win a game since, but the point stands.

“That’s cheating,” whines Alex, loudly, interrupting Jughead’s thoughts and craning his neck to see Archie’s cards. “You physically cannot have another plus four.” 

Jughead sidles up behind him, right behind his left shoulder. Archie definitely has more fours than he should.

“I don’t think you can count,” teases Archie, tilting his cards towards his chest. “Are you sure they teach you math at school?”

“Fuck you,” says Alex, and Jughead is startled for a moment before deciding he probably shouldn’t be. It’s not like he hasn’t said worse.

Archie, however, says _language_ , all prim and proper and Fred Andrews like, and Jughead can’t help but snort.

“Language? Jesus Christ, Archie. How old are you?”

Archie turns round to look at him, and his smile gets even wider. “Hey.”

Jughead feels his face do something funny, and he opens his mouth to reply when —

“Your boyfriend sucks,” says Alex, and the other girl at the table makes a vehement noise of agreement. Archie goes a vibrant shade of red, and so does Jughead, but he also thinks _fuck it,_ because Archie practically said as much earlier, anyway.

“Yeah,” he says, and then pokes Archie’s shoulder. “He’s the worst.”

“He’s cheating,” says the girl, and Jughead shrugs.

“He does that.” Then, because he can, he puts his hand on Archie’s shoulder. Archie looks delighted.

Jane calls them in for dinner shortly after that, and Archie slips his hand into Jughead’s while they line up to dish out their food. It reminds Jughead of the school canteen, and of that time Mr A put the Serpents up at his house and fried more eggs than Jughead’d ever thought he’d seen in his life. He bumps Archie’s elbow.

“Newcomer privileges,” says Jane as she pushes them to the table. It only seats about eight, so he guesses everyone else eats their food in the lounge room or the bedrooms. Archie sits opposite him, like he had at Jughead’s mom’s, only this time instead of kicking Jughead’s shin he pokes him with his toe and then just. Leaves his foot there. Resting on top of Jughead’s. Like they’re in a _film_.

Jughead glares at him across the table, and Archie ducks his head down to grin at his spaghetti. He pushes at Archie’s foot. Archie pushes back.

_We are not playing fucking footsie_ , thinks Jughead as loudly as he can in Archie’s direction. _What the fuck, Andrews._

Jughead does not actually believe that they are telepathic, but Archie glances back up anyway, and Jughead gets the sense that he’s being challenged. 

_Fuck you,_ thinks Jughead, and Archie grins. He kicks Archie’s foot off him, and then with some delicate manoeuvring manages to poke Archie in the back of his knee.

Archie’s leg shoots upwards as he kicks out, his knee colliding with the table and rattling all of their plates. Jughead nearly chokes on his pasta.

There’s a beat of silence in which Archie grows steadily redder under the stares of the others, and then Jane says _Jesus Christ_ in this resigned, hopeless tone, and Claire snickers loudly.

“Um,” says Archie, and Jughead has to physically bite on his tongue to keep from laughing. “Sorry?”

“Save it for the bedroom, boys,” says Jane, which quells Jughead’s laughter pretty quick. Archie turns even redder.

“Yes Ma’am.” 

_You’ve got to be kidding me_ , thinks Jughead. There’s another beat of silence.

“So anyway," says Claire, bursting back into motion, "I’m walking down by the shops and this guy comes over to me—“

The moment passes, and Jughead very resolutely does not look at Archie for the rest of the meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i love cheryl so much shes my no. 1 so i hope u guys didnt hate having her in this chapter...... shes just so fun to write ugh my wife
> 
> also oh my fucking god i think i gave myself a cavity what the FUCK. i made them play FOOTSIE. i hate myself
> 
> oh and fun fact! there is probably only a chapter (maybe 2 idk) left of this fic ??? plus an epilogue. plus smth from archie's pov that will just happen to take place in this universe. i feel like the idea of me finishing a multi chap is just so foreign to me that im giving myself extra work to make sure it doesnt happen. whatevs tho it just means more content for u guys right? win win
> 
> THANKS FOR READING


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